


A Rose Blooms in Winter

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt decides to nudge Alex out of her Cardiff blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alex loves gardens. Matt... loves Alex. So when she's sad, he decides to brighten her day.  
> a quick fic dashed off on a break. hope you like it.

It was cold. Of course, it was _always_ cold; it was Cardiff. Alex knows this, but that doesn't mean she doesn't miss her home across the sea. A warm house, with a big garden, and bright windows, and her daughter's laughter, in a land of perpetual sunshine... Alex sighs, sniffles and sips at her rapidly chilling tea. The day outside has been nothing but grey, and she's got an hour to kill until her next scene. The possibility of a nap had led her to the refuge of her trailer, but settling with a book and a cuppa had taken precedence. Now she sits on her sofa, book abandoned, staring out the window with her chin in her hand like a bored child, and sighing for pity's sake.

The knock on her door surprises her; she hadn't spotted anyone approaching... although she was probably too despondent to notice or pay attention. In any case, she doesn't feel like moving, so she simply calls for the person to enter and stays where she is. The knob turns, the stairs and floorboards creak beneath someone's footsteps, and she hears gentle breathing somewhere behind her shoulder.

She's just enough in the room to be aware that whomever her visitor is should be speaking or something, when a soft scent pervades her nostrils. Her eyes slide closed as she inhales a deep sniff of the floral scent, and the petal soft brush of something against her cheek causes them to flutter open again. She's staring at a single, perfect, shell pink rose. It doesn't seem real, this gentle burst of color against the dull blank that lies beyond her window.

Blinking once, twice before deciding to put a little faith in the actuality of the flower's existence, she finally lets her eyes traverse past the lush bloom, down the verdant stem to the long slender fingers clutching it at the base. The fingers are attached to a hand, connected to an arm swathed in tweed. _And the arm bone's connected to the shoulder bone,_ Alex thinks to herself as her gaze completes the journey by arriving at Matt's face.

"How... I mean, where--"

"There's a little old woman that lives behind the pub. She's got this amazing little greenhouse. Hothouse, really; I mean if you want to sweat, that's where you should head. And she said you can come over and visit her blooms anytime you like. But I noticed you weren't your usual luminous self and... well I thought..." His rambling has trailed off at the sight of tears misting in her eyes. Damn it, he hadn't meant to make her _cry_. She hasn't even taken the rose from him; it's just hovering in front of her nose and there's a twinge forming in his back from stooping at such a weird angle. He straightens, turns and whomps onto the small sofa with a sigh, staring dejectedly at the flower and cursing himself for being a pillock of universal proportion... when the rose is suddenly plucked from his fingers and brought up to her nose.

She's practically drinking in the scent, and her whole being lights up with every sniff, he happily notes. A gush of thanks bubbles out, and amidst the "oh, it was nothing" he shrugs in reply, his ears catch something that sounds suspiciously like "I love you." Her eyes go so wide he can see white clean around the green when she realizes what she's said- and more importantly, what he's clearly heard.

A very becoming blush, not unlike that of the rose she so delicately holds, blooms across her cheeks as she clarifies. "For _this_ it was really... well, you didn't... have to." Her eyes drop to linger on the flower again, so she misses the tender smile as he drinks in the curves of her face.

"Actually, Kingston," he begins softly, "I did. I knew it would cheer you up, or hoped it would anyway. And getting you to smile is... well, I figured the flower would do the trick." His grin goes a bit sheepish before he continues. "Better than I could manage alone, anyway."

Her gaze flicks up to meet his, a bit startled and still quite wide, before faltering to the plum bowtie at his throat. A little smile is tugging at the corners of her mouth before she speaks. "Oh I don't know, sweetie. Your ability to make me smile is pretty unparalleled... except maybe for Salome." She sees the fabric bob a little as he swallows, and looks back up in time to see his fingers on approach. The backs of the long digits trail over the still pinkened curve of her cheek, his thumb brushing over the laugh lines near the corner of her eye, and she can't help but notice his touch is nearly as delicate as the rose petals had been.

"Well, the poppet makes _everyone_ smile, especially me." The fondness she sees in his eyes as he speaks about her daughter causes a funny little flutter in her heart, and her breath hitches a bit when he continues. "She's almost as good at it as her mother."

 

The space between them is narrowing, although she can't tell who is leaning towards whom, and the rose has just landed against his lapel- when there's a sudden rapping at the door. They spring apart, on their feet in an instant, as Alex calls out a shaky, "Yes?" A production assistant has been sent to give her a 10 minute call, and her gaze whips to the kitchen clock for confirmation, amazed the time has flown so quickly.

The moment between them has passed, and Matt excuses himself so she can get ready with a funny little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. She takes a second to locate a bud vase, and keeps the rose for a few days, smiling at the delicate scent that greets her whenever she enters the trailer. When the petals begin to droop a bit, she hangs it from a beam in her room to dry, and keeps it in the pages of her set journal when she goes home, unable to look at it without a soft smile and a blush blooming across her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a week since the Rose. things... are not good.

It’s been a week. Matt has stopped by her trailer on more than one occasion and seen the rose in a little vase on her countertop, and smiled. Then it had disappeared and he’d seen the vase in the sink and thought maybe she’d gotten sick of it and tried **not** to feel like a wolverine had been dropped into his chest cavity to maul its way out- when he’d spotted it through the crack of open doorway leading to her bedroom. It’s hanging from a string on a rafter, swaying in the breeze of a heater in the window. She’s drying it. She’s going to keep it. His feet don’t touch the ground the rest of the day.

But _that_ moment? That little split second between them? Is weighing on the back of his mind, replaying over and over on a loop in his head. What, if anything, would've happened if the PA hadn't shown up to call them to set? How close would they have gotten? _How far_ (and here the blood starts rushing in his ears from the heart hammering in his chest) _would they have let it go?_

So of _course_ she notices something is up. First of all, she’s Kingston and he can’t hide anything from her except the stamped and certified confirmation of his undying love (even though it's always just... _there_ in his eyes). And second of all, she’s been giving him that little look of confusion where her eyebrows wrinkle together and he feels like he’s about to melt from the adorableness of it all. Eventually one of them has to say something. Like most things on set though, it’s Karen who beats him to the punch. Or rather, beats him and punches him until sense gets knocked into him.

They’re between takes, Matt trying to focus on the script he’s had memorized for days and failing in favor of watching Alex run through last minute fight choreo with her trainer. Granted, most of the crew is unable to take their eyes off her - especially in those jodhpurs - but Matt’s afraid he’s being obvious. Karen just confirms it.

She’s crept up behind him and landed a bruising blow on his bicep before slinging an arm around his shoulders. Her nose bops into his ear as she shouts in a Scottish whisper: “Oi, stupidface! What’s with the mooning?”

Matt pulls his eyes off Alex long enough to shoot her a glare, trying to shake her off. She tightens her grip and spins around to his front, putting one foot on the footrest of his canvas chair and looking at him with a patient, pointed stare. “ ** _What?_** ” Matt grinds out testily.

“Say what’s bothering you, or I’ll climb on your lap.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You can’t, Kaz. We may both be beanpole mantises, but you’d break the chair if you climbed on with me.” The look in her eyes grows more purposeful and she steps up, putting her full weight on the wooden strip between his shoes. It gives a protesting creak. Matt swallows his alarm. “Karen, come on. Nothing’s bothering me, except the imminent collapse of my chair.” His hand touches her shoulder, trying to gently shove her back to the ground; she stays put. 

“Well at least you can tell the props guys it wasn’t you broke it this time, can’t ya?” She’s crept forward another few inches, their noses nearly touching and her free hand on the armrest at his elbow. “Now say it.”

“There’s nothing to say.” She begins bouncing on the ball of her foot, causing him to grip the sides in panic and the chair to squeak alarmingly.

The wood is groaning, and he barely grunts out a warning “Kazzzz…” when a loud _SNAP!_ echoes through the relatively quiet set and Matt is rudely deposited atop a heap of splintered wood and rumpled canvas as Karen stands looking down at him, balanced on her other foot like a deranged ballerina. Her mouth is a perfect round “O” of surprise, and her eyes are wide, as though she hadn’t actually expected the chair to break.

People are already rushing to Matt’s aid, and once he’s on his feet and dusted off, he waves everyone away and grabs Karen by the arm, steering her towards the tea table. “Dammit Kazza. What in the history of sense is wrong with you? I could’ve been injured!” He’s shaking her arm with each sentence, the way one punctuates stern lectures to uncomprehending children. “What were you _thinking?_ Or rather, what were you hoping to accomplish, since it’s clear you couldn’t have had a thought going on in your head about that little stunt!!”

Karen is pouting, honest to goodness _pouting_ , at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. She mumbles something under her breath, and Matt leans in close to her mouth. “Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that. Try again?”

Her eyes angle up to his before flicking over his shoulder. She starts shoving at him to get him to let go, and calls out, “Alex! Save me!” The realization that Alex is directly behind him causes him to drop Karen’s arm in shock. She takes the opportunity to dash around him to Alex, burrowing against her side like a toddler and pointing an accusing finger at him. “He’s trying to give me a lecture!”

Alex’s arms are around her in an instant, cooing soothing nonsense at her as Matt growls out his frustrations. “I was not trying to lecture her. I was demanding an explanation. Why don’t you ask what _she_ (he flings a retaliatory digit right back at her) did to deserve it?” Alex turns her focus back to the redhead in her arms and asks. Shooting him a filthy look, Karen stretches up and whispers a long streak in Alex’s ear, occasionally gesticulating in his direction or batting a patch of curls out of her way. Alex’s eyes are widening and narrowing by turns with each passing second, pulling back to look Karen in the eye for confirmation once or twice before she finishes.

She purses her lips and lets out a huff through her nostrils, giving Karen a squeeze and a “thanks for telling me” before patting her on the arm and walking back to her trainer. Matt lets off an outraged squeak, but she holds up a hand and tosses a “we’ll talk about this _later_ Matthew” over her shoulder.

 _Matthew?_ He’s not sure how she’d done it, what dark Scottish magic Karen had borrowed from the Moff to turn Alex to her side, but somehow _he’d_ been the one to end up in trouble. He was going to murder that ginger when he caught up with her; he doesn’t care _what_ diabolical reveals Moffat has in the works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but don't worry. they get better. I got hit by the inspiration fairy (glittery little snot whopped me right in the eye) so there's more of this on the way...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those Four Little Words: we need to talk.

He pouts through the rest of his day, getting more than an earful from Karen, Arthur, Steven _and_ Alex to knock it off and get through his scenes. Stomping off set as soon as the final “CUT!” is called, he’s weighing the merits of tea versus ale to drown his sorrows when he hears a voice cutting across the lot. “Matt!” He recognizes the speaker, but doesn’t slow down. “Matt!” it calls again. Continuing on til he reaches his trailer, he storms inside, slamming the door with a childish satisfaction, and starts yanking off his costume. He’s got his tweed on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, one boot pulled off and his trousers half undone when the door to his trailer flies open with a bang and he jumps, startled at the intrusion.

“Matthew. Robert. Smith." Each name is punctuated with a step up into the room. "How **dare** you make a woman my age chase you across the lot like a mum after a runaway toddler?” The hem of her costume lifts up and she pokes a shoe in his direction. “And in _heels_ no less!” The skirt drops back down and she points a rigid finger at his couch. “Sit,” she orders in a venomously low hiss. He hesitates just long enough to get her angry, and she bites out “NOW!”

He sits, trying not to focus on how amazing the 'avenging angel of fury' bit looks on her or how sexy her voice gets when she's mad. She's _always_ sexy and amazing, and right now, she's mad at **him** , and no part of that is good.

Drawing in a deep breath, she presses her fingers to her forehead and runs them through her curls before leveling a look at him. Her voice is much softer when she speaks again. “Alright. What's the matter?” His mouth has barely opened when she cuts him off. “And don’t you dare say nothing. I know you far too well and I have witnesses that can back me up. Now what is the matter?” He doesn’t know where to begin; his floundering hands and eventual hopeless shrug convey that pretty well.

“I talked to Karen." He stiffens, recalling the animated whispers in Alex's ear and shuddering at what she could have said. "She’s going to apologize to you in the morning, and you get to pelt her with water balloons for five minutes after wrap tomorrow. She’s agreed to stand very still as long as you don’t hit her in the face.” Matt smiles and lets out a little snuffle of laughter before sobering again and examining his cuticles. "Beyond that, she had some... interesting things to point out, but I told her I'd rather... hear it from you."

His cuticles prove downright engrossing, since he can't seem to look away or form any sort of verbal reply. The silence stretches on, measured by the faint tick of the kitchen clock and the soft sounds of their breathing. After another minute, he hears her sigh, then her approach, and finally sees her hands slip into his field of vision to cover his own. She keeps hold as she sits on the couch next to him, and the action causes him to turn until their knees are touching. “Matt” she begins again, “Please. Talk to me." He peers up at her through the fringe at his forehead, and the look in her eyes nearly breaks him. "You were there for me when I was having a bad day; I’m just trying to return the favor." His gaze drops to their hands as his turn over to grasp hers, giving them a grateful squeeze.

His mouth opens, then shuts, and whatever he's planning to say vanishes when inspiration strikes like a thunderbolt. "Let’s go for a walk." 

A look of utter, adorable confusion falls on Alex's face, and she shakes her head as though to clear it. "What?"

"A walk. We'll talk, I promise." He relinquishes one of her hands to do a quick 'cross my heart' before grasping hers again and pulling her to her feet. "I just... not here, okay?" She's watching him carefully, scrutinizing his face from hairline to jawline with an uncertain furrow between her brows. 

"Kingston, you're right. We need to talk and we really, really will. Just let me finish changing, and you go put on your chucks and maybe some jeans or something, and meet me out front in 20, okay?" She looks like she might protest, so he hurries out a conciliatory "Please?" as he steers her to the door. A sigh and an eyeroll precede her "Oh, all _right_ " and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek with a smile before letting her go and whipping down to his bedroom to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nearly over. just one more part to go. thanks for sticking with me. Happy Valentine's, sweeties.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Teatime and Tennyson- Matt finally gets down to business.

When Matt emerges into the chill evening, tying a thick scarf around his neck, he spots Alex waiting by the main gate. She's in trainers, jeans, a thick sweater of soft cream, a parka and a rainbow cashmere scarf. Bounding up to her, he offers her his arm, and she accepts with a little shake of her head. 2 blocks later, his arm has unbent to let his fingers drift down to capture hers. She doesn’t protest or pull away, and he takes it as an encouraging sign.

It’s only 8, and the sidewalks haven’t completely rolled up as they stroll along into the small village near the set. He keeps walking past the pub- which she’d thought was their final destination - and tugs her down a small back alley to the backside of the street. In the front yard of a sweet little house sits a little apple faced woman smoking a pipe and playing Solitaire on an iPad. She looks up as they approach her gate, and offers Matt a smile. “Finally brought her around, eh Doctor?”

“Right-o Madge. But we were both having a bit of an off day, if you don’t mind.” Alex is slightly dumbfounded at this exchange, but they’re being led around the side of the house before she can process or ask questions, and the feel of Matt’s fingers threaded through hers is oddly distracting.

Her focus has been alternating between the uneven ground and the back of Matt’s head, so at first she misses the structure they pause in front of. Her nose has just collided with Matt’s shoulder, and she steps back rubbing it with a “what the—” when she finally sees it.

The frosty glass panes wobble their reflected moonlight, and Madge ushers them through the door ahead of her into a warm enveloping darkness. A click behind them and Alex blinks in the sudden light that fills the space, even though it’s not terribly bright. She feels Matt easing her outer layers off, before the sultry temperature of the greenhouse turns oppressive. Once her eyes adjust, she becomes convinced she’s stepped into a dreamland. A balmy, softly lit dreamland filled with intoxicating smells and lots of vibrant colors. “Ohhhh,” she breathes out.

There are flowers and plants _everywhere._ Verdant creepers and vivid flowering vines snake their way up towards the slanted ceiling. Rosebushes nestle next to peonies, and clusters of poppies bloom in a corner, the exact shade of Karen’s hair. Aster flowers and bold stargazers stare at each other across an aisle on one side. The other sidewall is populated by a hedge of rhododendron easily 9 feet long. Blue dahlias and yellow freesias and calla lilies in white and a plummy black appear at random intervals as she wanders the paved stone walkway. The scents blend together like a unique perfume, and she supposes she should feel drunk on the mixed aromatics, but it’s like being in the Secret Garden or Alice in Wonderland, and she feels so utterly at home the only thing missing is a fresh pot of—

“Tea, Kingston? Whenever you’re done gawking about.” Matt’s voice is behind her, and she turns to spot him on a small wrought iron loveseat in a clearing she hadn’t noticed, nestled at the heart of the greenhouse. A glass top table studded with diamonds of dew and mist bears a tea tray, with a steaming pot, a covered sugar bowl, a cream pitcher and mugs decorated with lilacs. Matt’s munching happily on a jammy dodger that she suspects is only slightly soggy. She wanders over to join him, and notices the fragrant steam rising from the mug as he pours is blending nicely with the honeysuckle blooming behind the bench.

He prepares her cup just the way she likes, and sets it aside to cool a bit as he prepares his own. Whenever possible, he doesn’t let her drink too-hot tea, saying her mouth is too precious to scald. She’s still not sure what they’re doing here, or even if he’ll tell her what’s been preying on his mind, but at the moment she’s too content to care.

A small cluster of violets is on the saucer when her tea is presented, and she picks them up, sniffing the delicate fragrance before twining them into the curls behind her ear and offering Matt a smile of thanks. "Yeah well you know what Tennyson said." She cocks her head a few degrees to one side, a puzzled little furrow on her brow. " _If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever._ It’s… apropos, for you. I think.” At the wide-eyed look she presents, he gulps and takes a sip of his tea in a rush, yelping a muffled curse when he burns his tongue. She giggles, and pats his shoulder soothingly until he settles back down.

They sit in silence, content in the perfumed stillness and atmosphere of friendly company, until Matt slides his phone out of his pocket, checking the screen before sliding it back.

"Alright, we haven’t got all night; Madge is a fan but she’ll kick us out when _East Enders_ comes on." Alex lets out another chuckle at that, and he smiles, swallows, and starts. “I know I’ve been… a bit… contentious lately.”

"Darling, don’t be ridiculous." His smile is fleeting before she adds, “you’ve been a downright _prat_ these last few days.”

“Ahh," he says rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Well about that. Last week, when I brought you the rose?” She blushes at the memory and nods, covering with a sip of her tea. “There was… I mean I _think_ there was… a moment. Before you got called back to set. And I thought something… might have been about to… you know, happen.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she concentrates on a biscuit, reducing it to crumbs in a matter of seconds without realizing. Brushing her hands over a saucer, she sighs and turns to face him. “Matt I- ” she begins, just as an “Alex, I know it was- ” They break off with a short laugh, and Alex gives him the “go ahead” gesture.

Clearing his throat, he continues. “Alright, I know it’s complete nonsense to hope, because a woman like you’d never be interested in me in a million years, but I couldn’t help but… hope. And then I saw the rose on your countertop, and I realized you were going to keep it, and I was trying to work up the courage to talk to you about it or just say sod it all and ask you to bloody _dinner_ or something, but then I started thinking.  Really thinking, about Daisy and your thing with Florian and the million plus ways this could go utterly wrong, and then my brain just started listing off every reason in the world you’d never want to be with me, and I lost my nerve.” She sets her teacup back on the table and slowly divests him of his. “I know I’m a pillock, and a klutzy baby giraffe, and almost 2 decades behind you, and bowties are ridiculous – but if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it – and there’s not a time or place in the universe where I could ever deserve you, and I’ve probably just mucked up our functional relationship forever and Steven will hate me and the fans will revolt because I cost them River and I—”

Warm fingers pressed to his lips stop his brain and whatever is about to come flying out of his mouth next. A soft _shhhh_ from her lips draws his addled focus down to the “perfect to kiss” pucker she forms when she does it. He looks down to the hands twisting together in his lap and realizes he has one of her clutched in both of his, trapping the tiny palm inside lest it try to escape. Her free hand slides from his mouth to just under his chin, and she gives a little push until he looks at her again.

“You’re wrong. A girl would be plenty lucky to have you, and the only reason I hadn’t considered you before was because… well, I didn’t think you’d have me.”

“That’s mad Kingston! You’re impossible not to adore! Even **Kaz** has the odd dream about you and she’s as straight as they come!” Her hand flies from his chin to her mouth as she doubles over with laughter, and his heart floats away like a soapbubble with the sound.

She sobers with her bottom lip between her teeth, and he licks his unconsciously as he catches the motion. “I’m too old for you,” she begins.

“You’re mature and experienced and divine, and a perfect match for this old soul of mine,” he counters.

“I have a daughter.”

“Whom I adore and who isn’t un-fond of me, if our times coloring and playing tag are any indicator.”

“I’ve been divorced twice.”

“Because you were married to idiots. Great big sodding shagging idiots who weren’t smart enough to get down on their knees daily and thank every deity there is that you were in their lives.” When she tries to protest this, he reverses her earlier motion, brushing her full lips with the tips of his fingers. “I mean it, Alex. They didn’t have the sense God gave turnips or they’d never have let you go. No man in his right mind ever would.” He swallows hard and lets his gaze drop to the lip she’s gone back to worrying at, before looking her dead in the eye and saying in a hushed tone, “I know _I_ certainly wouldn’t.”

They’re moving closer again, subtly but inexorably drawn to each other like magnets, powerless to resist the pull. This time there is nothing to interrupt them, and their lips meet in a tentative press, asking a mutual question, seeking general consent.

Her hands slide around his neck as his fingers tangle themselves in her hair, and suddenly the kiss deepens with lips crashing together like cymbals. His teeth are gently working her lower lip between them, tugging and nipping softly as her tongue snakes over the curve of his upper lip. With a moan, Matt deepens the kiss, and their tastebuds explode with the tang of each other. Tea and sugar and jam and desire are blending in a heady mix as their tongues tangle and slide and somehow they’re halfway reclined on the bench with their arms wrapped around each other when they hear the very distant sound of the greenhouse door opening.

Realizing their precarious position, they slowly straighten, reluctantly releasing one another to fix clothing and wipe off mouths. Alex has just noticed the brass plate on the back of the bench, inscribed with the Tennyson quote Matt delivered earlier, and smiles. They’re setting everything back on the tea tray, and acting normal as they can with flushed cheeks and bright eyes and voices that go a bit high-pitched on their good nights.

They bundle back into their jackets and things before they step outside into the frigid night. Madge gives them a hug after she locks up the greenhouse, and divests them of the tea things with a dismissive wave. "Now now, off with you. My show’s about to start anyway, and I can do the washing up before I head to bed. You two walk safely. And come back anytime.”

They walk along hand in hand, giggling like teenagers and stopping in every alley and alcove to snog furiously for a few seconds before continuing on their way. When they get back to set, they’re flushed and breathless again, and Alex licks at his collarbone when Matt calls for a driver to pick them up at Alex’s trailer.

They pass the time in each other’s arms, only breaking apart when the knock sounds on the door. A few crew members straggle into the van for a lift, so Matt and Alex simply sneak peeks at each other across the seats until they reach the block of flats, disembarking and somehow making it all the way to Alex’s door without completely cracking up.

She turns at the door, looking up at him with a smile playing about her lips. “Wanna come in for a cuppa?” He smiles and nods and lets himself get pulled inside. She’s just got her shoes off and is unwinding the scarf from around her neck when he slides up behind her and wraps her in his arms. Little kisses dotted up and down her neck make her shiver, and her question comes out a bit breathless. “Wha… what about… our tea?” He had forced _Scott Pilgrim versus The World_ on her the other night, proclaiming it proof that men will go to any lengths for a woman with mad hair.

“We could… not have tea.”

“Mm. Good idea” she smiles as she turns in his arms.

All they do that night is kiss until they break apart with mutual yawns, and cuddle into a warm embrace amidst the cocoon of blankets on her bed. They dream of walking hand in hand through a flower garden, of springtime, hills covered in blossoms, and bridal bouquets. They are the color in a grey world, and the sunshine in a dark time, and the umbrella when it rains.

That night, love blooms in Cardiff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there it is, my final chapter. sorry about the wait, but I hope you liked it.


End file.
